The Process of Survival
by Jinxgirl
Summary: After the deadly terrorist attack via virus, which left all but Faith and Giles dead of those residing at the Slayer headquarters, the two must learn how to survive their loss in its aftermath. Sequel to Survivors.
1. Chapter 1: Regrets

The process of survival

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters in this story.

Author notes: This takes place post season 7, approximate a year and a half to two years later, and is a sequel to my fic Survivors. After the loss of everyone from Sunnydale and the Slayer headquarters due to the terroristic attack, which caused a terrible, deadly virus for all but the physiologically immune Giles and Faith, what happens after Giles chooses to stay in America with Faith rather than to return to England?

Regrets

Faith often wonders if Giles thinks back to the day he agreed to stay with her, to let slip away his chance of moving back to his homeland, to starting anew, or maybe just attempting to reinsert himself into a more comfortable past. She wonders when she sees his face go still, almost blank, out the corner of her eye, if he ever watches her too, if he ever looks at her and regrets his choice, if it is difficult for him to wake each day to look her in the eye, and pretend not to hate every moment of his day, to broadcast his despair with the choice he has made. She wonders if he resents her, as she sometimes resents herself, for being needy enough, desperate enough, to let him see how badly it would have hurt her, how it would have gutted her to her core, for him to leave her behind.

She wonders if she would be able, if he ever indicated as such to her, be able to be gracious and unselfish enough to tell him that yes, she understands, and doesn't begrudge him of his feelings, that yes, she is sorry for tying him down with the guilt, sense of duty, and perhaps genuine feeling towards her that she was sure had been the pulled strings to make him stay. She wonders if she would be able to stand the blow without flinching, without showing him her own pain, if he ever told her that he could not stay any longer for her sake, that he was going back to England after all.

She wonders, but she would never be able to bring herself to ask, because the truth of his answer is not one she truly wants to know, and she does not want to test herself with having to try to give him the response that she knows she SHOULD give- a response she is almost certain she would be incapable of.


	2. Chapter 2: The Funeral

The Funeral

They had never had a real funeral, not after the initial deaths from the bombing of the Slayer headquarters. Once the survivors of the bombing had begun to grow ill, caring for them had taken up so much energy and time that there had been no time to truly mourn, no time to even give acknowledgment of one person's death when so many others were still in the process of dying. Once it was determined that any doctor sent into the building would become infected as well, all funeral homes, morgue workers, and other people who might professionally deal with the dead had refused to perform the task of handling the bodies, and so the disposal had been left up to Giles and Faith to deal with.

Giles had been the one to insist upon ridding the building of the bodies, and Faith did not know what he did with them. She never asked, and no matter how much time passed, or how old she grew, she didn't want to ever be told, or even to let herself consider the possibilities. She knew only that each time he returned from a disposal, his hands shook, his shoulders stooped so much he appeared to be almost hunchbacked in form, his face appeared as haggard, pale, and creased as an old man's, and he could not meet her eyes.

It wasn't until the day after Giles chose to stay that he suggested they hold a funeral, one which would be more symbolic than actual, as they had only a few graves which could physically be visited to go to. Faith had agreed with less than enthusiasm, more because she felt that she needed to humor some of his suggestions, in light of his sacrifice to her, rather than because she had any desire to do such a thing, or could think of a single thing she would be able to bring herself to say or do.

Their drive to the cemetery where so many young Slayers, and several of their other extended friends and coworkers were buried, was almost entirely silent; neither could think of a single word to say that would be of any help or use to the circumstances. When they pulled into the parking lot, Faith had hesitated for so long in exiting the car that Giles had looked back at her, concerned, but when she saw his mouth open, as though to begin to question her, she had quickly jumped out, almost slamming the behind her as she strode ahead of him, chin lifted high even as her stomach sloshed sickeningly.

She had not known what Giles expected from her, exactly, or what he himself wanted to do while there. She had not been able to bring herself to say anything at all, as she slowly walked through the cemetery's middle pathway, easily finding and coming to a stop along the several rows of headstones, and the familiar names they bore. There were so many, but they both knew there should have been more. That one day, Giles had already told her in one of the few stilted conversations they had managed, he would pay for each of the others to have headstones as well, if not a final resting spot.

It was not enough. They should have more, each and every single one of them should have so much more. Medals of honor, days of memoriam, parades and speeches given in their honor, books written in their name…they were heroes, each and every single one of them, and this was their payoff, in the end? This was how they would be remembered, by a single tombstone?

They would be forgotten. They would be forgotten, by all but her and Giles…and what kind of responsibility was that, what kind of curse was that, for them to be the only ones to remember?

Faith had stood with rigid posture, her hands clinched into fists at her sides, as Giles slowly walked along the aisles, head bowed, eyes half closed, and watched as his lips moved silently on occasion, as though speaking to each person, or perhaps offering a prayer. She watched him, who seemed to have so much to say, even if he did not speak it aloud for her to hear, and still she could think of not one word that would seem worth saying then.

It wasn't until they were back in the car, the silence stretched thin between them once again, that Faith had burst into tears so suddenly it had shocked even herself, and had continued to weep with such intensity she had difficulty drawing breath. Later that evening she had gone to the first sleazy bar she could find, then bought a large quantity of liquor afterward as well, and gotten so drunk she could barely lift her head, let alone walk. She had awakened in the morning, head throbbing severely, aching, parched, and so exhausted she didn't want to bring herself to move, to find that she was lying in a motel's twin bed, lightly covered with a thin blanket, a trash can close to her bedside, and that Giles was sitting up in the other bed, flipping pages of a book without really seeming to take in any of its words. Seeing that her eyes were open, though barely so, he had put down the book, scrutinized her, and asked if she could manage some water, and that had been the extent of the conversation about the previous day.


	3. Chapter 3: Living quarters

Living quarters

It was not possible, of course, for them to continue to live at the Slayer Headquarters after the last of the others had died. Faith was not sure where either of them would end up on a more permanent basis, because she was not sure where it was she would want to live, or whether it even mattered to her at all. Wherever she ended up, she wanted Giles close by. That was all she knew, and though she did not say it aloud, she knew that Giles must have an understanding of this as well.

She suspected that he too was no in hurry to settle anywhere in particular, that he felt as aimless and ill at ease as she, as if there was nowhere in the world that would ever seem home again. So for now, until either felt more apt to committing to anyone or anything but each other's presence in life, they simply decided, without ever discussing it, to continue to migrate from motel to motel, living an existence that was so familiar to Faith, it seemed almost unreal to her that she had ever left it at all, that she had ever, at one point, had a permanent address to call her own.


	4. Chapter 4: Proximity

Proximity

Giles didn't sleep at night. Faith knew this, because every night, from the other side of the room in their motel for the night, before she herself fell into a fitful sleep, she would lie with her back turned to him, eyes closed, and listen for the sound of slowed breathing, tossing and turning, or even snoring, to indicate that he too would have rest. But none of this ever came, that she could hear. And when she awakened in the night, as she often did, it was often to find that he had switched on the television and was watching it without sound, staring at the screen without seeming to really see it, or else that he had turned on the lamp beside his bed and was reading, flipping pages almost soundlessly. It seemed to Faith that every night he must lay perfectly still, as if in hopes that if he made no noise, she would be fooled into believing him to be asleep.

She wasn't.


	5. Chapter 5: Diet

Diet

It had never occurred to Faith that Giles- or any British person- could eat fast food, but she soon became familiar with his favorites, or at least what he appeared to most often order. Neither were hungry very often, but when they did select somewhere to go, cheap, fast, and easy were the main criteria. Considerable amounts of money had been spent, over the past couple of months, in trying to rebuild the damaged Headquarters as rapidly as possible, in paying off funeral expenses, in paying for medical examinations and eventually, for their own supplies in their attempts to treat the ill and dying, and so what money remained was thought to be best watched carefully rather than squandered on something both cared so little about as food.

And so their meals for the day, in those first couple of weeks, tended to run towards the likes of Chik Fil A and Arby's, Taco Bell and Burger King, but never McDonald's- Giles had explained this only vaguely, as having a strong distaste for its "sinister" clown. Faith discovered with a degree of interest that once might have been amusement that his tastes seemed to run towards what might be considered more easily "identifiable" ingredients, such as salads, sandwiches, and coffee, whereas her preference was to drown everything in ketchup or hot sauce and call it seasoning.

One day, Giles said without any indication of a definite time frame, he would cook for Faith, just to insure she would in fact be able to recognize food groups, should there ever be a dire situation in which she might need to do so. Faith had tried to smile, not sure what it was about this statement that was most surprising- that Giles could cook, that he would plan on hanging around long enough to be able to do so for her, that he would ever offer, in essence, to serve her, or that he had, after all this time, made some half-hearted effort at a joke.


	6. Chapter 6: Nightmares

Nightmares

It was expected, every night, that Faith would dream of their lost friends, that she would find herself caught back in a terrible time loop of their loss in which only awakening could bring her out from. She knew each night that when she finally gave in to sleep, no longer able to force herself to remain awake despite chain smoking cigarettes, multiple cups of coffee, and pacing about inside and outside of the motel rooms, that she would see each and every one of them, hear their weak cries for help and their anguished screams as their pain intensified with each passing moment. She would watch their weakened limbs contorting and spasming as they attempted to bear out the frequently spiking waves of agony coursing through their bodies, as they sobbed and clawed at sheets, as they vomited black bile and bled through layers of sheets out their opening of their bodies. She saw their eyes, bright and sightless with their fever as they looked at her without seeing her at all, their hands grasping to take hers, desperate for any small amount of comfort her touch could provide. She could feel the grasp of their cold fingers, the heat of their face beneath her hands, and all of them, every single one of them was calling her name, begging for her to help, begging for her to save them. Begging for her to do something, anything to make their suffering ease, even just a little. Sometimes, they asked her to kill them, and sometimes, this was exactly what Faith wanted to do, to ease her own suffering as well as theirs.

All of this was expected, an almost nightly litany within her own unconscious, and it nearly always led to her shooting up in bed gasping for breath, her hair wet against her cheeks from her own tears. She knew Giles must hear her, knew that he must know the gist of what she saw, the reason for her struggle with emotion upon awakening. But he never spoke to her, never acknowledged that he heard anything at all, perhaps because he thought this was what she would want, perhaps because he himself did not have the energy or strength to try otherwise. Each night she would turn her back to him, lying on her side, and take in deep breaths as she shut her eyes against the images still lingering in her mind, waiting until they finally faded. Sometimes this worked. Sometimes this didn't. There was no such thing anymore as a full night's rest.


	7. Chapter 7: Purpose

Purpose

"Is this truly what you want, Faith?"

From where she lay curled into a nearly fetal position on the motel bed, hair limp, straggling, and partly strewn over her face, hands pressed against her churning, unsettled stomach, Faith slowly opened her eyes partway, shifting them up to meet Giles's gaze. She blinked, taking in his slightly tensed jaw, the serious intensity about his expression, and thought that he looked almost angry, though she could not figure out why he would be. It wasn't like she hadn't been drunk before, in the past few weeks. It wasn't like he hadn't witnessed this and even helped care for her before, without saying a word of reprimand or even voiced concern afterward. So what was his problem now?

Was this what she wanted? Well, she didn't want to feel like undigested meat sloshing in the belly of a beast, if that was what he meant, but that was an unfortunate side effect to drinking the sheer quantity that she had, the night before. What she wanted at the moment was sleep, wicked strong painkillers, and one night without dreaming that didn't come courtesy of being too drunk to think. But she didn't have the verbal ability at the moment to put this into words, so she just blinked at Giles again without responding.

"I've been patient with this….stage…of yours, Faith," Giles continued when she did not answer him aloud, his tone tightening. His hands moved to touch the frame of his glasses, but instead of cleaning them, as Faith might have expected, he simply straightened them on the bridge of his nose before returning his hand to his side. "I understand that this period of….this adjustment, in the…after…is difficult. For us both. But it has come down to this. This is it, Faith. Choose what you want. Now."

Faith had not been aware that she had been offered a choice of some kind. She frowned, attempting to sit up, eyes still squinted, but then gave up, falling back against the sheets and mumbling her reply.

"What are you talking about?"

Giles's voice was as steely as his gaze as he answered, every word measured and distinct so she could not help but hear, focus.

"If you want to have a meaningless life, a life worth nothing in the end…if you want to throw away everything you've worked hard to make yourself into over the last couple of years, every lesson you have learned the hard way, through work and sweat and effort, and everything you have fought to become….if you want to deny your calling, what you, of all the possible young women in the world, were chosen to do…if you want to turn your back on everything that the others have suffered and sacrificed, spit in their faces, and let them see that it was all for nothing, that you will walk away from it all and give up without even trying to make their suffering worth something… if you want to betray them and their memories….then you keep on doing exactly as you are, Faith. You continue to repeat your conduct of last night, and I will not stop you. I will not even let myself care, because it will be your choice."

He paused, letting this sink in, his eyes never wavering as Faith's face slowly paled, and she bit down hard on her lower lip, her stomach cramping worse than ever at his words. He watched her for a few moments, making sure this had hit as hard as he wanted it to, before he went on, his voice softening, but no less intense in tone.

"You are the only Slayer left that we know of, Faith. This is a heavy responsibility, but it is one you could accept. You could choose not to, and I will not stop you. But if you want to honor those we have lost…if you want to take up your calling and let them all know that you will not back down, that no ignorance or cruelty or evil of this world can break you….if you want to be the person each of them knew you to be, the person each of them respected and loved you for…if you want to help me track down the people who have taken their lives and our lives away from us and make them suffer for it…then last night must be the last to pass as it did. If this is what you want, Faith, then stand up, right now. Get into the shower, get dressed, and then come back out here to me. Because if this is what you want, then we have a considerable amount of work ahead of us."

His eyes remained on hers, waiting, expectant, and for Faith, there could be no other response, however tempting the alternate might seem. A few moments' hesitation, and then she stood, needing not to speak to indicate her choice.


	8. Chapter 8: Slaying

Slaying

It had been almost two months since Faith had last gone slaying, and even longer since she had trained her body in any way. She had gone three years without training in prison, of course, but each day she had worked out, doing push-ups and sit-ups, pacing the narrow insides of her cell, jogging in place, and she had made full use of the exercise yard as well. All this had been necessary not just to keep from being bored out of her skull, but also to make sure her reflexes and strength stayed up, just in case someone tried to get "friendly" or downright threatening- which originally was pretty regularly, but quickly died down once she'd earned a reputation.

But since the Headquarters' attack she had not worked out in any way, not even one day, at least, not in the traditional sense of the word. How could she have had time to run around the block or on a treadmill when she was needed to go quickly between bedsides? How could she lift an inanimate pile of weights when she needed to lift bodies? How could she waste an ounce of energy pretending to fight someone she cared about when every person she cared about was fighting the failure of their own bodies?

Faith had gone longer without training, of course, when she was in a coma, and she knew it would all come back to her easily enough, that her muscles, even more so than other humans, had a very long term memory. Still, the first time she and Giles found and joined a gym, further stretching their tight budget, she had taken some pleasure in seeing the stunned reaction of others as she systematically worked her way rapidly through each of the systems and equipment, maxing out the weights, and hitting punching bags so hard that one actually gave under her blows.

Yep, she still had it.

Slaying was harder, not so much because she was out of practice, as because of the memories it brought. Slaying required hanging around cemeteries, which required being around tombstones, and even a glance at one of the tombstones could send her off to thinking about the row of tombstones now bearing the names of her friends, to envisioning how they might look now, six feet below the ground. Faith knew that whatever Giles had done to dispose of the bodies of those without tombs, he would have made sure that they could not be made into vampires past their deaths, and she would think of this too, trying not to come up with possibilities, knowing all the while that any vampire who approached, she would be holding her breath, scanning their features to make sure they bore no resemblance to one of their friends.

It felt strange and very wrong to be the only Slayer in the cemeteries, to know that it was possible that she was the only Slayer in America who was still patrolling through cemeteries. After the attack of the headquarters no new Slayers had been recruited, and it was possible there were still many girls who had no idea of who they were or what they could be doing with their lives. Any who did understand what they had become may very well be too leery of what might happen to them, should they choose to take up their calling, to do so, and Faith could hardly blame them for that. There had been no need to slay alone when the headquarters had existed, as there had been so many of them, and in fact it had been a rule that they would always have at least one partner when they went out, even Faith and Buffy.

They had been each other's back-ups, as the two senior Slayers. For Faith to walk alone, even knowing that Giles's eyes were on her, that he was prepared to warn or assist her as needed, was enough to be emotionally distracting if for even one instant she took her focus off her goal.

But what Faith had forgotten, in her hiatus from working out and training, patrolling and slaying, was how much fun it could be for her, how it could become something she needed bodily to do in order to be able to release what had once been an intense build-up of energy and restlessness within her. In her grief she had felt so paralyzed with sadness that it sometimes seemed difficult to move or act at all, or to feel anything but pain.

She had forgotten her anger, and as she fought not simply for her own life, which she soon realized was not in true danger at all from any of the vampire goons she found who were proud enough to call themselves predators, she soon found that recovering her rage, using it as a tool to dig into herself and wield as a weapon against her foes, was not just helpful but somehow deeply satisfying.

The first night she returned to slaying, she had staked her way through five vampires in fewer than five minutes with such decisive force that the fifth vampire, witnessing what she had done to the others, had actually attempted to flee. Faith had chased him down in two or three bounding strides, threw him against a tombstone by his collar, and held him to the ground by his throat while shoving the stake through his chest, all in only a few moments. When Giles had caught up to her, eyebrows slightly raised behind his glasses, there had been a small smile curving his lips, and Faith had smiled back, adrenaline still pumping as she stood, dusting off her pants.

"I'm ready for more."


	9. Chapter 9: Research

Researching

At the time of the attack on the Slayer Headquarters, and even more so in the aftermath, both Giles and Faith had been considerably preoccupied, too much so to remember in great detail the specifics of the girls they now knew to be behind the act, the announcement they had made upon the hijacked radio station, and certainly to try to pin down their identities, location, and headquarters, if they had any. Frankly, they had been too anxious over the lives of those who remained still alive to even care, much less think about revenge.

But the time of apathy in this regard had passed, and there was little else now to occupy their days except their growing understanding that they would not rest, that neither would feel it possible to even begin to move on or feel at ease again in their own skins, until they had done everything within their power and even more so beyond it to bring down vengeance upon those who had tortured their friends, what amounted to their family, and destroyed everything they had built up to have meaning in their lives.

Whereas their days had previously been made up of their struggles to continue to function in the face of their overwhelming shock and emotional devastation in a world in which nothing remained of their previous existence except their still tenuous and fragile connection to each other, with their only purpose simply to remain near each other as they tried to continue to survive, they now had a mission, a purpose, a direction to their days. They would find those girls, find all those associated with them and anyone who might have hired or sent them, and they would deal with them however felt appropriate…or perhaps, however felt most satisfying.

Each day Faith trained, pushing herself even harder than normal in her effort to become as strong, fast, capable, and if she were to be honest, brutal in her abilities as was possible, given the lack of equipment and sparring partners, or even much of a space or environment to practice in, that she currently had. Giles always watched, and he too trained himself, working himself as hard as she did, straining himself to his limit of endurance in order to up his own abilities. They did not know who they might be up against or what they might have to do, and they were determined to be as prepared as possible.

And they spent hours each day researching, trying in whatever way they could think of to track down the identities of those responsible for the attack. It turned out to be more difficult than they had anticipated, partly because their own memories of the girls, the day they had come into the headquarters for a tour, and the radio broadcast afterward was so vague and so diluted by their shock at the time that they had little detail to go upon. Both Giles and Faith had some contacts they had once used for information, but even Faith's rather overt request, by way of physical violence, for their knowledge had not brought forth anything she herself hadn't already known or been aware of. And so it became clear soon enough. She and Giles would have to use what both were rather unfamiliar with as a tool- the internet.

It undoubtedly wouldn't have taken as long as it did to locate the responsible party if they had not both been mystified as to how to do something so simple as search for information. More than ever Faith had appreciated, with her efforts, how easily most of the staff had used what Giles muttered under his breath to be "incomprehensible monstrosities," and how quickly they had been able to locate whatever it was anyone needed on them. She and Giles on their own, for they had not trusted even local librarians enough to help them find whatever information they would need, had struggled along, painstakingly figuring out the basics of computer usage, and it was only their tenacity and their dedication, almost desperation for their mission, that finally resulted in Faith managing to find what it was they were looking for. No, it wouldn't have been hard for the average computer user at all, because as it turned out, their terroristic foes had a home page.

The three girls who had posed as Slayers, it turned out, were part of an organization called CASS- Citizens Against Slayer Superiority. The irony of the name was that despite everything its members appeared to stand for and their efforts to keep Slayers "equal" to others, even if it meant putting them out of the picture entirely, the very name of the organization was a blatant statement that Slayers were in and of themselves inherently better in some way than they, the supposedly more desirable "average citizens."

Their site online would have been amusing, if it weren't for the fact that every word of it was meant to be taken very seriously. It in fact elicited comparisons from Giles of the Nazi regime in Hitler, from Faith of the KKK. It was possible that no one who believed in or worked for the agenda of CASS had supernatural powers or knowledge of any kind, but this made them no less dangerous. They both knew this all too well and fully, and neither so much as smiled as they poured over every pretentious, self-important word, scouring for any details they could use.

The site itself did not provide a location or any names, nor did it provide any photos, so at first, as suspicious as they were that it was the correct organization, Faith and Giles did not know beyond a doubt that it were the case. But the page did mention looking up the organization's Facebook page. Several confused, frustrating minutes later of both Faith and Giles trying to attempt to maneuver the world of Facebook, which Giles had heard mentioned so seldom he actually said to Faith with some puzzlement that he thought it was called "Myface," they had finally struck gold.

CASS's Facebook page had a name, a number, and a location, all very important, helpful, VITAL information. Diligent searches found discussion posts on its wall, where many people, whose names Faith took care to write down, were speculating on, crowing about, and explaining in all too explicit detail the attack on the headquarters and what had been used to call it. Staring at the screen, every muscle in her back growing rigid as her rage settled, bitter, metallic in her mouth and throat, Faith had realized that the irony of it all was that despite the CASS's mission and purpose- to eradicate all Slayers, who they perceived as having an unfair advantage over average citizens in their strength and abilities- they had used a magically created virus to murder nearly everyone she had known and loved.

It had taken them only a few more minutes to discover that the creators and administrators of the page had Facebook pages they could easily access, and to note their names, faces, and information. A few more minutes soon yielded the realization that they could easily read what was most likely the names of all the members of the organization, simply by clicking on the link to see the names of all the people who had "liked" the page. And another twenty minutes of systematically clicking on each name soon gave them the names of the three girls who had been sent to the headquarters: Bonnie Willis, Sarah Henderson, and Vivian Haverty. The two apparent heads of the operation appeared to be named Odetta Upton and Gwen Meeks.

As Faith had carefully logged off the library computer, having already twice renewed her allotted time on it, and walked out of the building in silence, Giles just behind her, she had been torn between equally strong urges to scream, beat something, weep, cheer, or simply get in their shared car and drive straight on to CASS, Inc. headquarters. By the time they got into the car, Faith sliding behind the wheel before Giles could protest, and she put the car in gear, they didn't have to discuss their decision to go with the last option.


	10. Chapter 10: Revenge

Revenge

There was no time for a plan, and though Giles made a few attempts in the course of the rather brief drive to develop one, Faith refused to discuss or hear any possibilities. Clearly she had her own plan in her mind, one that would most certainly would involve copious amounts of violence, and if there was even a chance that he might try to dissuade her, she was not open to hearing it.

There were always weapons in the back of the car, but Faith didn't even pause to take any up. The people in the CASS Inc. headquarters were human, and she would not require anything beyond her fists to damage them beyond repair, if she so chose.

Giles did not know, as he followed Faith's fast stride as quickly as he was able, whether he was praying against her making such a choice, or praying for it.

She didn't take time for discussion once inside either. The girl who came forward to greet, or perhaps question their presence, received a punch in the face that not only sent her to the ground, but appeared to have knocked her unconscious. A few more girls came forward, and Faith dealt with all of them in an identical fashion, expending no effort at all in getting them out of her way. As she continued to move forward, eyes set straight ahead of her, shoulders squared, fists clinched tightly at her sides, Giles's attempt to catch at her arm was immediately shrugged off.

"Faith- what is it you are going to do?"

This too was ignored as Faith strode down the hallway, seeming to be looking for a particular door or room, though what she had in mind, Giles could not imagine. Finally finding a door which bore a sign reading "Employees only- Danger, Keep Out"- Faith did not hesitate in breaking its lock, throwing it open and stepping inside. Giles paused, questioning the wisdom of this action, but he knew there was no alternative for him to follow. If she were to lose her life, what good would caution do him? What life of his would be worth preserving?

He knew once inside that they were standing in the midst of some sort of laboratory. Metallic tables were placed about the room, with the typical sort of equipment and ingredients used by both witches and chemists in their places. There was also, he noticed, hanging in one open closet several biohazard suits, goggles, gloves, boots, and other safety equipment. One glass case, Giles noticed as he turned slowly, taking in his surroundings, bore a sign with the same warning as that on the door, written in very bold letters, and as he stepped closer, he saw that there were several containers of chemicals locked inside the case.

It took him a few moments to understand what he was looking at, and the purpose for the room. This must have been where they had created the chemicals to cause the virus…this was the site of the creation of the destruction of their lives.

Faith seemed to have understood this before he, perhaps because this was what she was looking for in the first place. She stood with her fists at her sides, her body held so rigidly she was almost shaking, and stared at that glass case, not speaking, not yet moving. She seemed to be on the verge of exploding into some sort of violent action, as if her body had not yet decided for her what it would be.

And then another person entered the room, a woman whose face immediately froze the moment she saw Giles and Faith standing before her, draining of color. Clearly she recognized them; they certainly recognized her. She was Odetta Upton, one of the women whose face they had found through the CASS Facebook page…one of the women who had co-founded the operation. It was she who was at least half responsible for this corporation's existence, she who was at least half responsible for the development of the virus, for its order to be released via bomb in the Slayer headquarters. It was she who had played a large part, presumably, in all the agony Faith and Giles had witnessed and experienced, and as all this rushed through their minds in a few seconds of understanding, her fate was sealed before any of them exchanged a word.

The violence Faith showed her was astonishing, but still, it seemed to Giles that she must have been holding herself back. How could she not be, in order for this woman to be conscious, to be able to draw the breath to even attempt to scream? The rage in Faith's face was terrible, rendering her usually attractive features nearly inhuman to look at as she hit Odetta Upton again and again, seeming to know exactly where and how hard to hit her to give her the most pain without allowing her to lose consciousness. She avoided her head, avoided her eyes and the area around her heart, and still Giles was astounded by the amount of blood the woman was spilling, by the number of bones he had heard breaking, by the roughness of Faith's voice as she screamed at her with each blow.

"You did it…you killed them! You killed them all! You're going to pay, you're going to pay, you're going to DIE for what you did to them!"

Somewhere in there she was crying too, and showing all the more aggression because of it, as though enraged to be seen with such emotion, to let the woman know she could have provoked it with her actions. The woman's noticing this, however, was rather unlikely, given that she likely could not even see or hear. Giles could see the end of her life drawing near, could see that if Faith lost control for even one moment she would be gone, that Faith would make herself a murderer again. Even if she drew back now, it could still be too late.

"Faith," he said with urgency, and when Faith's fist descended again, he almost shouted her name, stepping close enough to be within the swing zone of her arm. "FAITH!"

She paused, chest heaving, eyes barely visible through the disheveled curtain of her hair, her fist inches from making contact yet again. As she lifted her head to look at Giles, tears still streaming, her hand shaking with her desire to lower it once more, Giles slowly, almost regretfully shook his head.

"No. Not like this."

She looked back at him, then looked down at the woman struggling for breath beneath her, almost every part of her rendered a bloody, nearly unrecognizable mass. With great effort Faith stood, standing over her, as her chest continued to rise and fall with her shallow breaths. Then she turned, slamming her fist through the glass of the locked cabinet, and took out each of the containers. One by one she threw them to the ground, watching as a thick vapor rose from the liquid inside, spreading out in a mist that quickly seeped beneath the door and out into the hallway. Without looking back, she opened the door, allowing it to spread further, as she herself walked away, Giles on her heels, leaving the nearly unconscious woman behind her, all too cognizant of the meaning of Faith's action.

She and Giles knew first hand how quickly the chemical virus had spread, how any present in the building and any who might come within its bounds would become infected, almost certainly. And so she and Giles, the only two known to be physiologically, somewhat inexplicably immune, walked away, leaving those present in the building, and who would be present by the following few days, to suffer the fate of their own makings, the fate they had doomed nearly 3 dozen to already.

Poetic justice, if its gratification would have to be somewhat delayed.


	11. Chapter 11: Grief

Grief

The first time Faith ever saw Giles cry was not in the midst of the attack, during the chaos of the injured and the ill, the dead and the dying, when both of them were worn nearly to the point of collapse from exhaustion and worry, and the dread that if they were not themselves the next to go, then this would leave for them the alternative, the only ones to be left behind. She had seen him at the initial funeral, standing with tightly thinned lips and grim eyes beneath his glasses, arms folded, only the fingers digging tightly into the creases of the sleeves of his jackets revealing the amount of pressure and emotion doubtless built up within him. She had witnessed countless times the way he had sat beside the bed of one of the dying, changing their sheets, sponging off their faces, holding their hands and speaking to them in soft, comforting tones, attempting to ease their way into death with his voice and his presence, and as flat and dead as his expression sometimes seemed, as exhausted and creased as his features, he never shed a tear, and his voice faltered only rarely.

Even when only Buffy remained, and the terrible day came that he returned from his quest for supplies for them to find her ten minutes deceased in Faith's arms, blood still drying on her lips and clothing, he had only come to a halt in the doorway, his hands trembling, throat working, before he took a deep breath and stepped forward, taking her out of Faith's grasp. The second "funeral" he insisted upon came and went, and though he bowed his head at each of the existing graves, emotion plain and intense across his visage, still, she saw no visible tears.

So when they returned to their motel room, less than 20 minutes after the confrontation at CASS Inc, and Giles disappeared into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him with a firm click, Faith did not connect the dots until she herself came to stand before the closet across from it, staring at what clothing she had bothered to hang (one jacket and one shirt) beside what clothing Giles had taken the time to hang (every item he owned, seemingly, including the ties). From this point she could hear a strange snuffling noise, what seemed periodic audible inhalations and exhalations, and she stood still, becoming alert to it, and attempting to puzzle it out.

It took her another few moments to recognize the sound to be crying. Giles was crying in the bathroom, and did not want her to hear or see.

It was almost an astonishing realization for her; somehow, as ridiculous as the assumption was, Faith had simply figured by this point that Giles did not cry. It was indeed a silly thought, as she herself, who would have verbally denied to almost anyone who might have been brave or infuriating or perhaps silly stupid enough to point it out to her or anyone else, that she wasted any time or energy on tears, despite the fact that many she had known, and certainly Giles himself, had witnessed occasions themselves. And if she, a Slayer, a tough, self-made badass from Boston, given her own past experiences, or perhaps in part because of them, still on occasion had cried, how could she think that Giles was immune?

Maybe it was the fact that he was older and British, and not given to openly showing or speaking of intense emotion; maybe it was because he rarely seemed to falter or not know what he thought best to do next. Maybe it was simply because she had never witnessed it before. Whatever the case, standing just outside the bathroom door and realizing that Giles was crying on the other side was stunning enough to Faith that she could not think of what to do.

To call out to him or knock on the door, when he might want space or privacy, when he clearly didn't seem to want her to know what was happening, would seem to her both wrong and embarrassing, for herself as much as for him, because Faith knew well enough that she wasn't exactly the best person to have around if someone was in need of emotional comfort. Whatever he was thinking or feeling, she didn't want to make it any worse for him…and what if she couldn't handle seeing him showing pain? What if she herself got so angry or so upset she ended up doing or saying something that would just make everything that much harder to cope with?

So no, she couldn't bring herself to ask Giles if he wanted or needed her, or even to acknowledge to him that she knew what was occurring behind the closed door. Instead she went to sit on the bed and pretended to watch TV, though the volume was very low, and her eyes continually flicked towards the bathroom door, every muscle tensed. And when Giles eventually emerged, showing no signs of the crying other than perhaps slightly reddened eyes, Faith waited until he passed her, and then impulsively reached out with one hand, taking hold of his wrist and squeezing lightly. He looked down at her, their eyes meeting, and though she said nothing, and neither did he, there was a weary sort of understanding, even gratitude in the look he gave her, and she knew that he could guess the reason behind the touch.


	12. Chapter 12: Company

C

ompany

Faith used to be a loner, or so she thought herself to be. She had never been one, growing up, to have many friends, never seemed to fit in with other girls her age, girls who seemed more interested in shallow material possessions and maintaining magazine-perfect looks, or else keeping up their GPAs and getting the right guy to glance their way, than anything else, anything more real or more exciting that Faith could actually relate to. She'd known plenty of guys, but that had never seemed to work itself out; it had never lasted long that any of them could look at her as a friend without eventually trying to get her to be "friendly" with other parts of his anatomy. Friendship, to Faith, seemed to be about using people or keeping yourself from being alone, more than about actually liking or being loyal to someone.

It wasn't that she hadn't tried. Even up to Sunnydale she'd tried to act the way it seemed she needed to for people to like her, or even notice her at all, she'd tried to be friendly and funny, interesting and sexy all at once, and for a while it had seemed to go over okay. For a while it had seemed there was a chance. But of course, it hadn't lasted, maybe because, she had sometimes thought to herself, it didn't take long for people to see through it, to see that, in Faith's opinion at the time, at least, she really wasn't any of those things at all. It had been easier after a while to simply not care about other people or wanting to be around them, to tell herself that all she wanted or needed was her own self.

Prison seemed to reinforce this for Faith; she had been around other people all day, all the time, and it was easy to feel that she genuinely wanted to be alone, to crave time and space where there would be no one but herself. She had thought at times, when the other women's constant presence irritated her nearly beyond continued endurance, that she would have preferred solitary confinement.

She knew now that none of this was accurate. It wasn't that she didn't want other people or to be around other people, or that to be alone would make this easier. Faith knew now that a person could be very much alone even when surrounded by other people, even when holding someone in her arms, because she had understood this with brutal clarity as she sat holding a bleeding, delirious Buffy through the hour it took her to die.

She knew now that she wanted someone present with her, but even more so, she wanted them THERE, wanted to never feel in their presence that she was actually alone. It was this desire, this need, that had given her such despair at the possibility that Giles would leave, because his presence, quiet as it often was, could nearly always fulfill it, and she was beginning to sense that gradually, over time, hers was beginning to feel necessary to him as well.

They didn't need to discuss this with each other when it was decided that they would buy an apartment together, albeit, of course, with their own separate bedrooms. And their first night moved in, as Giles had promised some time ago, he cooked dinner for them both, complete with food groups that Faith could indeed identify by name.

He hadn't been bluffing, he was a decent cook.


	13. Chapter 13: Purpose

Purpose

They had just settled into their new living arrangements, were beginning to allow the space of their home to fill up, both with needed possessions with each other, when Giles gestured one evening for Faith to sit, that he wanted to speak with her. Faith had done so with raised eyebrows, folding her arms as she looked up at him expectantly, thinking he intended to "suggest" to her about something as exciting as picking up plates and putting them in the dishwasher after using them, or perhaps being less reckless with slaying- always a popular topic- but his expression was not reproving, nor concerned, but rather thoughtful before he spoke.

"I believe, Faith, it is important to us both that we find a new purpose to our lives."

Startled, Faith had laughed slightly, eyebrows still arched high as she lifted one hand, palm up, in a gesture of confusion and skepticism.

"A purpose? Like what, religion, God? Or maybe sex, would that do?"

"A reason to wake up in the morning," Giles said patiently but with quiet conviction, ignoring the somewhat mocking tone to her voice. "Something to live for and look forward to each day. A reason to feel useful and needed, a reason to feel that for someone or something, you are making a better existence, or at least working towards doing so. Something to make you feel as if your life is meaningful, or that makes your own life seem meaningful. It is important, even vital, that we have such a thing, because if we do not, we continue to drift along without caring and with pain."

"Is this about slaying…you think I need to step it up?" Faith had asked with some confusion, furrowing her brow and sitting up a little straighter. "Because usually you're telling me to slow it down."

"No, not necessary, although slaying could become your purpose, at least for the time being," Giles had acknowledged. "At least in part…it doesn't seem healthy to have slaying as a purpose, when one day you may not be able to slay any more, for whatever reason might crop up."

"Well, then what?" she had asked, genuinely mystified as to what was supposed to be her "purpose" when slaying seemed to be the only thing people tended to agree she was genuinely good at, when it was in fact her calling, something she had been chosen to perform in her life. It was making her useful, wasn't it? It was making a better existence for people who didn't get killed?

But Giles would not provide her with an easy answer.

"You will have to discover that for yourself, but it's something that I feel you should do," was all he would say, giving her a small smile before standing, beginning to back away. "Something to consider."

Faith had watched him, frowning, thinking, and as he began to disappear through the doorway, called out to him with genuine curiosity.

"Giles...you got a purpose?"

He had half turned, tilting his head, and looked at her closely, a seriousness about his expression, the way he seemed to be remembering every part of her face, that struck her in a way she could not quite understand.

"I believe I do," he said quietly, and before she could ask for an elaboration, he turned again, walking from the room.


	14. Chapter 14: Humor

Humor

Faith had taken only a couple of days off from slaying after the confrontation of CASS Inc., and mostly because Giles had looked her in the eyes and calmly requested his desire for her to do so. She had shrugged and rolled her eyes and protested the need, feeling that her time was better spent out there getting rid of her own excess energy and channeling her thoughts into productive violence rather than letting it build up and take over herself, but Giles had been adamant in his "suggestion," and by this point, whether she could really explain it to herself or not, Faith often did seriously take his opinions into account, whether or not she ever acknowledge it to him.

Still, though she had taken his advice, she had been considerably relieved when the few days had passed, with somewhat agonizing slowness and entirely too much thinking for her to really count them as a break of any kind. So when she set out on her first day climbing back into the slaying saddle, Giles accompanying, Faith had been anticipating her kills with an enthusiasm that was almost need, and she could barely keep herself contained. She had not casually walked through the cemetery but instead had taken large strides, so that Giles was almost jogging to even attempt to keep up. She had paced with her eyes scanning the cemetery grounds rapidly, looking for any signs of movement, eager to get started immediately.

In this eagerness, however, what she had failed to take into account was the importance of watching the ground just in front of her as well as fifty feet ahead, and she had ended up tripping over a broken piece of tombstone and falling to her knees, scraping up her palms on the nearest headstone when she threw her hands out to catch herself and badly staining and scuffing her pants. Giles had come forward quickly, as startled as Faith herself, and was that anxiety she had seen in his eyes?

"Faith, are you all right?"

"Yeah, just left my brain and balance behind today, looks like," Faith had muttered, pretending nonchalance, though her cheeks had flushed slightly as she brushed her hands off on her pant legs, inspecting their damage. "Dammit, that shit ain't gonna wash out, I bet…stupid grass is as bad as ashes for that kind of thing."

When she finally looked up at Giles, she had seen that his lips were twitching, his eyes glittering with suppressed amusement, and when he started to laugh in faint, not quite suppressed snickers, she was at first irritated, even embarrassed. Okay, so she was off to a rough start, but it wasn't that friggin' funny.

"Whatever, Chuckles, you're usually the one doing the pratfalls out of the two of us, and you're also the one that at one point had an actual list posted of all the different occasions you got knocked out, and it took up two sides of a sheet of paper," she retorted, but this just seemed to further amuse Giles as he laughed outright, no longer even attempting to conceal it.

For a few moments, Faith continued to glower at him, not appreciating feeling as though she were the butt of a joke that still, to her, really wasn't all that entertaining. But then she noticed that Giles's face was relaxed, that there was a looseness to his posture that was normally not present, that his eyes seemed softer and warmer and all together less guarded than she had become so accustomed to, and once all these observations began to stand out to her, Faith too relaxed, and then even she laughed as well as she pulled herself to her feet.

It didn't occur to her until later that evening, after three vampires had met their end on her stake, that this was the first time either of them had laughed since the day of the bombing.


	15. Chapter 15: Fear

Fear

The first time that Giles became ill in the aftermath of the bombing and the CASS confrontation was perhaps a couple of months later, when winter was just beginning and the cold and flu season was kicking in full swing. It had started with what seemed a simple weariness, at least in what seemed observable to Faith, with paleness and lack of appetite occurring as well, but when she first heard him vomiting and felt the heat emanating off his skin, Faith was terrified.

She'd never been good with sick people in the best of times. Faith had never carried any illusions of herself as being good at comforting others, and illness, as well as weakness of any kind, always made her feel edgy and uncomfortable, as well as disgusted. She'd never wanted to be a nurse or doctor, and she herself didn't enjoy being sick, rare as that was to occur, so she'd never seen the point of sticking around once other people started spreading around germs and bodily fluids. Of course, none of this had mattered after the bombing of the Slayer headquarters, when her choice had been to care for her ill friends, to watch them suffer without doing what she could to help them, or to walk away and leave them to suffer alone. To Faith, the second two options had simply not existed.

This was not the same situation as when the others had been ill, and Faith knew it mentally, tried to tell herself this repeatedly. Giles had the flu, a stomach bug, or some other common and relatively harmless virus, NOT the same as the others. Giles would be sick for a couple of days at the most, and then he would be fine. He said it himself, and he was the one who would know. There was no black bile, no bleeding, no writhing and moaning in pain, no hallucinations, no loss of his senses…it wasn't the same at all.

Faith knew all this, could observe the differences in his behavior and the others', and she could see that it was clearly different, clearly considerably less severity in his discomfort and their outright anguish. But this didn't mean that her stomach didn't twist and squeeze with anxiety every time she looked at him, that her heart didn't thud with her outright fear of his loss. It did mean that for the few days it took for Giles to recover, she couldn't sleep for fear that she would be unaware in her unconscious state of his possible turn for the worse, that she couldn't force herself to eat or to leave the room for more than a couple of minutes at a time. And it meant that when Giles was recovered enough to stand, look her in the eyes, and rest one hand on her shoulder as he thanked her quietly for her concern and for caring for him, then told, not requested, her to go rest, that she had shuffled towards her bedroom with such gratitude she felt dizzy from it, though perhaps this was a result of dehydration mingled with stress as well, and when she had lay down, finally allowing herself to begin to relax, she had felt tears come to stand in her eyes with the intensity of her relief.


	16. Chapter 16: Conversation

Conversations

They had started to talk about their childhoods one night, a glass of scotch in Giles's hand, a bottle of Jack Daniels in Faith's, several more already consumed at an earlier time as they sat in front of the muted TV and late night began to slowly creep towards the first strains of day. Giles had told her of growing up with vain, silly aunts who never aged despite the passing of years, of his kind but firm father and growing up from the age of eight, already in training to be a Watcher, of his stubborn resentment and mischievous capers as he grew, the foolish arrogance and experimental naivety of his adolescence and the willful destruction it had caused. He spoke without asking for her to give him any information in return, without even seeming to hope for or expect it from her, and Faith appreciated this with a depth that she could not have put into words.

She listened, and often she laughed, sometimes she remained appropriately serious or intent, taking in and trying to reconcile with her own previous imaginings these new pieces of Giles, working them in her mind to see how they matched up with the Giles she knew. And as the night became day and the alcohol continued to dwindle, her own generally tightly guarded inhibitions in regards to her own memories began to lower, bit by bit, until she herself was speaking of herself as a child, bright and mischievous as well, who had nevertheless grown up lonely, lost, increasingly angry- and never quite acceptable to herself or anyone else. Her soft, almost drowsy words began to paint a picture of this child's life in her succession of cramped, unsafe apartments, never warm enough in the winter or cold enough in the summer, often without working utilities, never fully paid off, whatever the month. She spoke, and Giles began to hear from Faith her own description of her lack of stability from a mother whose alcoholism created erratic and often violent shifts in behavior, a father whose shiftlessness and alcoholism led him to seek out involvement with the Irish mob and long periods of abandonment, and the resulting succession of men and boys- her mother's, her own, and sometimes, whether or not it was her own idea, the both of theirs- who always seemed to leave her with more emptiness and pain than they could take away.

She spoke, and Giles simply listened as her body slowly shifted in closer and closer to his, until her curled legs leaned every so lightly against his own, until her voice had faded and her eyes half closed, head leaning back against the couch. She spoke, and Giles waited until it seemed her words had run out, until she had said what she wanted or needed to finally release from her own memory and place within his, before he finally reached to lightly cover her hand with his own.


	17. Chapter 17: Injury

Injury

At the conclusion of every night of patrol, Giles would assess any injuries Faith had accumulated, clean and bandage wounds, even those she knew would heal rapidly on their own and were relatively minor. He insisted upon it, stating that she could still obtain an infection or be impacted in her state of healing if she did not keep them clean and help them along in recovering themselves, and Faith had gone along with him, sensing that on some level Giles needed to do something active, to feel that he was participating in his way in keeping her healthy and fully functioning. It had felt odd to her, at first, to have someone fussing over what to were injuries not worth blinking over, let alone allowing someone else to notice and care about, but she soon grew used to it, even to begin to see it as a necessary and needed part of her routine, a way in which to begin to wind down after patrol.

Giles never seemed particularly worried, however, as he patched her up, though he frequently went over the particular incident which had given her injury and discussed with her ways that she could lower her risk the next time, and he did often remind her of caution and care. So she had hardly expected his reaction on the night when a particularly rough batch of vampires had arranged an ambush.

Faith had eventually taken care of them, but in the meantime they had played rough, and she had ended up with a concussion, a dislocated shoulder, bloodied nose, and several broken ribs. Nothing life threatening for a Slayer, but certainly considerably more than her fair share of wounds in the fight. She had been more disgusted with herself than concerned, and she'd certainly had worse; what was amazing and rather disgruntling to her was that Giles had gotten off so lightly in comparison, though he had obviously not been their target or even within their range of attention.

Giles, however, had reacted with considerably more intensity than she had expected. He had joined her in battle whereas previously he had always stayed considerably in the background, watching rather than interfering, and she had been surprised even in the midst of it all by the ferocity and skill that he possessed in his usage of his crossbow. Beneath his glasses his eyes had glinted with what looked to her to be rage, and he had actually, unbelievably, looked dangerous. But by the time the vampires were taken care of and Giles was moving to Faith's side, checking the level of damage obtained, the warrior's look about him was gone, replaced with only a deep worry that aged his features and shone brightly in his eyes. As he checked on her repeatedly for the rest of the evening, asking her if she was awake and all right until it actually began to get on Faith's nerves, she kept thinking back to the hoarse tone of his voice when he had called her name, to the way he had initially touched her with such lightness and care, as though she were fragile, to the way his hands had shook when he first began to examine her…she thought back to it, and though he still had never spelled it out to her, she knew for the first time that he too was afraid to lose her.


	18. Chapter 18: Affection

Affection

The first time she and Giles had hugged, Faith could not even remember the incident that had provoked its occurrence. She was fairly sure that she had initiated it, that it had been intended to be friendly, even teasing, more so than serious, and that it had occurred in a lighthearted moment after she'd had a couple of drinks. She didn't remember the reason, but she did remember the way it had felt to put her arm around Giles's waist, how he had tensed slightly, how she had been surprised by the lean muscles she could feel beneath his shirt. She remembered that he had been just the right height to be able to hook his arm around her shoulders, for her to fit perfectly beneath its circle, and that he had lightly, with somewhat self-conscious hesitation done exactly that, giving her a quick pat in lieu of a full on returning hug, before releasing her and stepping back. This exchange, brief and awkward as it had been, had been pleasant, memorable, and even as Faith too stepped away, lightly knuckling Giles's shoulder, she had had an urge to step back under his arm, to not let him back off from her so easily.

She wasn't sure how it was that within a couple of weeks these half-embraces had become more frequent and seemed less out of the ordinary, and then became expected, until they were not half-embraces at all but what could only be termed as definite hugs. She wasn't sure when it was that she would have thought it a sign of anger from one or both of them if a day passed without it, but by the time it got to that point, without any conversation about this change between them, she had other, more pressing thoughts to consider than something as seemingly simple as a hug.


	19. Chapter 19: Numbers

Numbers

"So how many women have you slept with, G?"

It was another late night conversation between them, an increasingly common occurrence due to the insomnia that often plagued them both. Rather than lie in bed after nightmares, or when unable to push dark memories out of their minds enough to bring forth rest, the two had taken to migrating into the living area of their apartment with a cup of tea in Giles's case and coffee in Faith's, and more often than not, if one were having a sleepless night, the other would eventually join them. It was in this dim lighting at the latest hours of the day that the two had learned the most about each other, the setting where it seemed most possible for boundaries to slowly give way and their knowledge and understanding to grow. It was easy, in these hours somewhere between the previous day and the new, to seem not quite awake and real, and therefore to speak what one would think about too intently to release in other circumstances.

Giles showed little surprise to Faith's question, simply shifting his gaze towards her on their shared couch as he calmly sipped his tea, then set it down, considering his response.

"I suppose that depends," he said finally, and Faith raised an eyebrow, skeptical of this response.

"Depends on what? Either you slept with someone or you didn't, what would it possibly depend on?"

"Well, for example, if the person in question were a youth and so was myself at the time, whether she would count as a woman," he said calmly, as Faith gave a faint laugh, sitting up a little straighter from her slumped position.

"Oooh, Giles getting his naughty on young, huh?"

"Or," Giles continued placidly, though there was a glint in his eye that hinted he would be closely watching her reaction at the following statement, "whether you would consider it as counting if one or two of the people in question were male."

Faith had been sipping her coffee at this point, but this mildly spoken statement caused her to sputter, nearly spitting it out into her mug. She put the cup down hard enough for some of it to slosh out, blinking several times and almost gawking at Giles as she turned to fully face him, incredulous.

"YOU? YOU were getting the naughty on with a GUY?"

"Two, actually," Giles corrected. He seemed from his slightly twitching lips to be rather enjoying her reaction; it wasn't often that something shocked Faith, let alone that he could. "Really, Faith, you have heard of some of the miscreant endeavors of my youth….is my having called forth a demon which murdered my mates and participated in a punk rock band really that much less impressive to you than that I could have dabbled with sexual activity with a male?"

"Well, you're British…so…yeah," Faith explained, and when Giles laughed, a little louder than she had expected, at this, she shook her head, her curiosity fully piqued now as she continued to question him. "So who, that Ethan guy? And that other guy friend of yours- Frank?"

"Philip," Giles corrected, nodding, "and yes. Certain rituals of ours, with Eyghon…and a few other occasions where…well, that is neither here nor there-"

"It was somewhere," Faith says quickly, and Giles laughed again, reaching to briefly pat her leg, just above the knee. Faith's eyes shifted to his hand quickly, and she could still feel where he had touched her when he removed it.

"Your question was in regards to numbers, not specifics…so if I were to count males and youths, as well-"

"Yeah, yeah, full round number…come on, fess up, British Stud Boy, what's your naughty quotient?"

Hearing his reply, Faith's eyes widened, and she blinked, too taken aback to at first find words. One thing about Giles and his answer, it made her own number seem considerably less along the lines of "slutty" and more along the lines of "average."


	20. Chapter 20: Attraction

Attraction

Faith couldn't be sure when the first time was that she looked at Giles and saw not the lines creasing his face and the grey taking over as the prominent shade of his hair, but instead the way his eyes seemed alert at all times, the way his lips could curve into a smile that made her feel warm to her toes- and other parts as well. She wasn't sure when it was that the stoop that had curved his shoulders inward in a permanent despairing slump had given way to his straight, newly confident posture, that his voice had become to her not just the only one she heard on a daily basis, familiar, and nothing more, but rather necessary, something which could alternately make her feel safe and comforted or excited and restless with unspoken feeling. She couldn't have named the day that the frequent casual embraces between them began to grow longer and more thorough in execution, or when it was that she had ceased simply feeling comfortable, safe, and at peace in his arms and instead to feel her heart beating faster, heat flooding through her skin. She didn't know when it was that she first looked at Giles lying in his bed, and the first thought she had was not of his snoring or even a quiet sort of relief to have another living being nearby, but rather to repeatedly muse what might happen if she were to slip in beside him beneath the sheets.

Somewhere down the line, Faith had stopped reacting to Giles's smiles with a simple returning smile of her own, but instead began to think with an intensity that was difficult to shake what it might be like if she were to hook one arm around his neck, pull his face down towards hers, and kiss him until neither could breathe. It had been long ago that she had stopped wanting to be with him not just because he was the last left standing of those she had known, not just because she needed to not be left alone, but because she wanted and needed him, Giles, specifically to be there with her, because she had grown used to and attached to him for who he was. But this development, this new element to that desire…she couldn't say it was entirely new, because she'd had a stray thought here or there, back when she was a teenager in Sunnydale. But now, at age 24, to stand across from Giles and think of throwing him back onto the bed, of straddling his chest and tearing off his jacket, just at the sight of his smile?

Yeah, something had definitely changed.


	21. Chapter 21: Anniversary

Anniversary

The remnants of the Slayer headquarters had been demolished months ago, by workers brave enough to risk any illness still lingering among its wreckage by wearing face masks and other measures of caution, though whether they had helped avert the illness, Faith and Giles had not heard. The building no longer existed, but regardless, one year after its initial bombing attack, the two had found themselves driving past its former site, then parking in front of it. They did not get out of the car, but simply sat there, not speaking, hardly moving, as their thoughts drifted back one year into the past, remembering.

The explosion, the panic that had erupted when parts of the building began to collapse, when whole walls and segments of roof fell in, the screams and cries for help as people were trapped, crushed, the coughing and shouting of people's names…the wail of ambulance sirens, fire trucks, police cars, everyone trying to help, to pull them out. One of the worst days of their lives, with two people whom had known no shortage of trauma and horror, and still, the worst had been yet to come.

They sat together, eyes trained on the bare patch of land where a vibrant building, full of promise, hope, and talent for the future had once existed, lower lips caught between teeth, eyes slightly wet, and some time passed before hands fumbled across the gearshift of the car and found each other, entwining tightly. Several more minutes passed in silence, cold hands gripping hard, and then they pulled apart, driving in continued quiet back to their shared apartment.

Giles held the door open for Faith as they entered, and she stepped through, a ritual that had seemed strange and completely unnecessary to her the first ten times or so it occurred, but which she had now grown used to and thought of not at all. Their uncustomary silence continued, stretching out, but it was not uncomfortable or awkward so much as expectant. And yet if either had been questioned, finding words for this expectancy may have been difficult to put into action.

They parted in the hallway, with Giles entering his room, Faith hers, and both closed the door behind them. For another minute, perhaps two, they remained separated, and still the silence between them stretched on. But then came the knock on Giles's door, Giles standing without surprise to open, and still without words, without any need for permission or explanation, Faith came into his arms, wrapping herself around him and burying her face into his chest with fierce emotion in the gesture. But although this first gesture may have started out as comfort, whether for herself or for Giles, as she raised her face to his, meeting his lips with an urgency that matched the embrace, it was clear that this particular gesture was about need, but more so about desire.

Giles hesitated only a moment before returning the kiss, one hand stroking up her back and through her hair with a gentle slowness that soon became more forceful as his hand closed around a lock of her hair, gripping it in his fist. He is still holding Faith tightly against him, eyes closed, returning her kiss with rising intensity as she steps forward, closing the door behind her with her other hand, and then pulls away just enough to continue to drive them forward towards his bed.


	22. Chapter 22: Roles

Roles

"I could never be your father," Giles told Faith with quiet seriousness.

They lay partly dressed in bed, blankets tangled on the floor, sheets only partly covering their forms. Only knees and feet touched as they caught their breath, turned so that they were facing each other, and Giles looked her in the eye, holding her gaze. Hair tangled across her pillow, one strand just lightly grazing his skin, and it takes considerable self-control for him to neither reach to run his fingers through the rest, or else to brush that one strand away.

She is impossibly beautiful, impossibly young, and what has just happened, the sheer improbability of it, or its future reocurrence was extreme in Giles's eyes… and yet somehow inevitable. And it was this which he tried to speak of, this he tried to address to her now before it was too late, became too far, before any damage was irreversible.

But finding the right words, or even thinking them within his own thoughts, was near impossible with Faith so near, with her skin still in contact with his own, with her smell still overlaying his own on his skin.

At his opening statement Faith's eyebrows raise, and she chuckles, her amusement evident in her throaty responding tone as well as in her expression. "I think we kinda nixed that role for good five minutes ago."

"No…what I mean is…even before this…before any of it…years ago, when perhaps, that was the role I should have taken on, in actions if not in reality…in the way I could have made you feel…I couldn't do it. I couldn't take it on…and any fumbling attempts to do so seemed only to damage," Giles tried to explain, knowing even as he spoke, just from looking at her face, that she would not, or perhaps could not, understand. And how could she, when he himself did not, or did not want to, when all he wanted was to reach out for her face and pull it to his own again?

"Ancient history, Giles. This is today, let's not get lost on those trails," Faith said quietly, and it was tempting. So tempting to move his body closer, to slide one hand up her side beneath the sheets.

He did shift himself just slightly nearer, but he didn't touch her, trying one more time to voice what seemed so wrong to feel, even if it seemed entirely correct and right to think.

"I could not be your Watcher, or even your friend," he says quietly, and at his tone Faith stills, genuinely listening now, her face as serious as his own. "If I could not be those, Faith, I could certainly never be your lover."

For a few moments Faith said nothing, and he could not read her expression, the walled-off look about her eyes. But when she spoke her voice was calm.

"You sure about that?"

She regarded him, and when he did not immediately answer, having no answer to give, she continued. "Because it seems to me…that's the one role you never tried."

A few moments more, and he had no retaliating response. A few moments more, and Faith was leaning forward, her face inches away, and all Giles could think of as his hand reached out seemingly of its own volition, cupping her cheek, that she was correct, and this moment today did not at all encompass anything of days of the past.


	23. Chapter 23: Purpose

Purpose

She's found her purpose now, the point of her life that Giles had insisted to her was important, that she could not continue to exist without having established with firmness and commitment. Her reason for waking in the morning, for taking care of herself and her health during the day, for pushing herself to her maximum and trying her hardest, doing her best and being her best in everything she can. Something to look forward to, something to come home to, something to live for and defend, to protect and receive comfort and humor and happiness from, something to give her meaning and inspiration and to keep her from ever feeling discouraged and alone. Something to center her life around, something to keep her in balance and yet continue to spur her on into never plateauing or growing complacent…something to hold close as her own. Even something to love with a growing quiet ferocity that can astonish even herself in its depth over time.

And what is most amazing to Faith, what she can feel to be true when she steps into his arms, when she tilts her face up to his kiss, when they lie together in bed with her head on his chest, his heartbeat thudding steadily beneath her ear, or even in the simple reach to grasp each other's hands, a simple exchange of smiles, is that in those moments without words, with nothing but open, honest gestures, she can feel and fully believe that Giles too has a purpose, and she no longer needs to wonder what that purpose might be.

The end


End file.
